


I See Your Macarena, and I Raise You an Electric Slide

by OriginalCeenote



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Becca Barnes is Bridezilla, Bucky Barnes Rocks a Tuxedo, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Skinny!Steve, The Author Is An Awful Person, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tumblr otpprompt, Wedding Date Plus-One, Wedding dances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 14:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4105024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky needs a date for Becca’s wedding, and for appearance’s sake, Steve fits the bill.</p>
<p>Taken from the Tumblr otpprompt: Person A and Person B are both single, and A asks B to be their date for a wedding on the grounds that they RSVP’d plus one and need someone last-minute who can stand there and look pretty for a few hours. It maybe doesn’t go terrible.</p>
<p>Bonus material: B catches the bouquet. Because of course they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I See Your Macarena, and I Raise You an Electric Slide

**Author's Note:**

> Hate on me if you want. I know this is trite and has been done to DEATH. But I love this trope and these two punks. I just _do_.

“How does it look?” Becca called around the doorway to the changing room. She popped a peanut M&M into her mouth and crunched loudly, her first opportunity to eat all day.

“You tell me,” Bucky murmured back as he adjusted the tie, crooking his jaw up to get a better glance at his work knotting it. He emerged from the changing room and wandered out to meet his sister’s scrutiny. Her face lit up as she dropped the open bag of candy into her purse.

“Shut _up_. Oh, my God, turn around,” she enthused as he stood a couple of feet in front of her, smoothing down the front panels of the tuxedo jacket. “You look awesome! I _love_ that!”

“Looks sharp,” agreed the clerk as she approached, pausing from her chore of arranging the newly dressed mannequins in the front window. She had a measuring tape draped around her neck and a pincushion strapped around her wrist. “Pants might need a hint of taking up, but that works for you.” Becca was up on her feet, turning Bucky toward the three-way mirror. She hovered over his shoulder and plucked at the sleeve cuff thoughtfully. Bucky noticed as he always did that they looked like male and female versions of the same person, but Becca was looking tired and more drawn than usual. 

“Need a breather?” he asked carefully. 

“What? No! No. I’m fine,” she informed him. “I still don’t know about the tie. I’m stuck. The color’s just a little bit… _off_.” She held her finger and thumb a mere millimeter apart, squinting at the tie in question. “I might have to go with the neckties instead of the bowties. Whaddya think?” She turned to the helpful clerk, a willowy strawberry blonde with a serene smile.

“Y’know, both ties were made by the same manufacturer, and they even came from the same dye lot according to the box the order came in. It’s the funniest thing. But I agree with you, the color looks incrementally different because of the fabric itself. Just a _hint._ ” She mimicked Becca’s gesture with her own slender fingers. Becca’s shoulders sagged.

“I can’t deal with this. I just can’t.” Bucky sensed a meltdown coming, not uncommon over the past two months as her wedding planning wound its way down. His normally unflappable, mellow twin sister slowly transformed into Bridezilla once their parents paid for the venue, making their engagement seem more concrete. She turned up hopeless gray eyes to Bucky, who calmly took her shoulders in his large, warm hands.

“No one’s gonna notice a blue tie that’s just a ‘hint off,’” he assured her.

“Yes, they _will!_ ” she whined. “You’ll be able to tell in the photos, and when we’re outside in direct light-“

“No one will be looking at the groomsmen,” he reminded her. “Especially not at something like a tie, Becks. Everyone will be looking at _you_. It’s _your_ day. You’re gonna come down that aisle like a big, fluffy, pretty ball of lace and frou-frou,” and she brandished her fist threateningly, lips quirking in an attempt not to laugh, “and everyone is gonna ‘ooh and aah’ when they stand up and take pictures. Ask anyone a week after you get married what they remember most, and it’s _not_ gonna be that the ties didn’t _quite_ match. Sweetie, no one’s gonna give a shit. Not one.”

“Do you have a secondary color in your scheme?” asked the clerk, named Pepper according to her neat little gold badge. “Like, maybe a gray, or a cream?”

“I do, but the bridesmaids’ gowns are Tiffany blue,” Becca told her. “Those ties look _perfect_ in the catalog, but in person, it’s a different story. I just don’t know…”

“What’s your secondary color?”

“Ecru.” Pepper’s eyes lit up.

“We might have just the thing. Here we go. Take that off.” Before Bucky could even attempt to untie it himself, Pepper’s fingers were working him out of the bowtie.

“Oooookaaaaay…” He felt like a Ken doll, and relatively helpless as both women fussed over him.

“I just like the blue with his eyes, because it makes them pop,” Becca mourned.

“But he can pull of ecru, too. You both have gorgeous coloring,” Pepper gushed. Becca beamed, and Bucky noticed his sister calming down as she considered their options. Bucky’s legs were getting tired from walking and standing so much during the afternoon as he accompanied his sister for moral support during her wedding errands.

Becca’s bridemaids were all from out of town, girls she went to college with and her maid of honor, who was currently laid up at home with a horrible throat infection who sounded like she swallowed a frog when Becca called her that morning. Their mother was at home, wrangling with the caterer about the appetizers and place settings, so that left Bucky to lend his services for the afternoon, and to help complete her plans for the groomsmen’s outfits.

He felt like a flying monkey from the Wizard of Oz whenever he had to deck himself out in formal wear. Bucky was convinced that no clothing manufacturer who made menswear knew how to make anything that didn’t pull, bind or itch. Pepper came out from the back room with a large catalog – Bucky cringed – and three different ties calling themselves “ecru.” They were incrementally different in color to his own eye, but he knew Becca might as well have been staring at one in traffic cone orange, one in chartreuse, and one in deep purple.

“I knew it’s a longshot, probably a silly question, but do you have-“ Becca cut Pepper off swiftly as she produced a couple of neatly pinned fabric samples from her purse, shoving them at her. “-swatches?”

“I come prepared. This would all be going so much more painfully if I didn’t.”

“This hasn’t been painful,” Bucky deadpanned. Becca elbowed him. “Ow…”

Pepper skillfully tied the first ecru necktie on him, forming a perfect Windsor knot from over his shoulder, easily as tall as he was as they both examined it in the mirror. He was thankful that her perfume wasn’t cloying, owning a slightly metallic scent that he found comforting. Pepper smoothed the shoulders of his blazer, dusting off the faintest hint of lint. “How’s that fit?”

“Fine.” He turned to his sister. “Becks?”

“Oh, wow.” Becca held up her swatch, flush against the tie, then against Bucky’s cheek. “This might work. Oh, God. We might be okay, here.”

“It’s nice!” Pepper chirped, smiling radiantly. “He can rock that or the blue, really.”

“Eh. He’ll do,” Becca shrugged. Bucky’s eyes widened, and he gave her a shrug.

“See what I have to put up with?” he told Pepper.

“Okay,” Becca breathed. “Okay. We’ll need six of these. Bucky, you’ll need to wrangle the guys in here for their fittings-“

“So far, I’ve had Tony, Clint, and… er… Thor?” Pepper told Becca as she checked her ledger on the glass-topped counter. “They’ve all been in here already, but I’ll change their orders for the ecru ties. I had to special order the pants for Thor. He’s a big guy,” Pepper told them with amusement. “Real sweetie, though. He was fun to fit.”

“He’s a riot,” Bucky agreed. Becca’s eyes glazed for a moment, and her features slipped into a sappy smile.

“Oh, my God, I know, right?”

“You’re _engaged,_ Becks,” Bucky reminded her with another little shove. “Quit drooling over Thor.”

“ _You_ quit drooling over him, then!” Becca challenged. She had him, there. Bucky _couldn’t._ But as luck would have it, Thor was taken, his girlfriend was stupid-gorgeous and ridiculously smart, and Bucky… well, Bucky didn’t always have the best luck with dating, anyway. Which left him to deal with his next obstacle…

“Speaking of which…” 

Bucky groaned. “No. _No_. Don’t say it, Becca…”

“Have you found a date yet?” Becca sounded anxious. Bucky winced, dramatically clasping his chest as though he were pulling out an arrow.

“I’ll just ring this up,” Pepper announced. As she turned away from them to take back the rejected ties, she hid a tiny, knowing smile.

*

Bucky made it home to his apartment with his dignity only slightly shredded, a clear Subway plastic bag dangling from one hand and his bundle of mail bundled in the other while he fumbled with his keys. He kicked the door open and winced at the slightly stale smell in his apartment, promising himself he would clean at some point that evening, starting with the refrigerator. His modest one-bedroom apartment was an upgrade from the studio, compliments of his landlord, who decided to kick out the stoner couple who previously occupied it, even though they contested having their lease broken. Bucky ignored the faint stench of weed that still lived in the carpeting in favor of finally having space for a couch.

It was nice not to have the nuisance of roommates anymore, even if he was paying for rent on his own, and he still occasionally still felt lonely. Bucky’s green parakeet, Prudence, clucked a rattling greeting at him as he set down his dinner and mail. “Hey, beautiful,” he cooed. “You get lonely without Daddy?” Bucky gently drew her out of her cage, deciding he needed to change the paper in there, too. She inched up the length of his prosthetic hand, working her way up his sleeve, where she perched on his shoulder and nuzzled his dark hair. Bucky was glad that Becca wasn’t forcing him to get a haircut for her wedding, and that she was settling for him just being clean-shaven and ponytailed for the occasion. _Just don’t look like a hobo._ He could handle that. Prudence loved his hair, often hiding in it while he worked at his laptop in the kitchen. 

Bucky checked his landline phone for messages, still debating on whether or not to even keep it. Bill collectors, spammers and telemarketers were the only ones who ever called him on it, he mused as he hit play on the message machine, but every once in a while-

“ _Hey. It’s Steve. Just wanted to check in with you, since it’s been a while. When I don’t hear from you, I worry that a pack of dogs might have wandered into that apartment of yours and begun nibbling your face off. So, I’ve got these tickets to a Dodgers game. Got ‘em from a buddy at work, and I figured the second one might go to waste, so… yeah. Gimme a call when you can, Buck. I miss your mugly face.”_ Bucky heard the awkward chuckle in his tone, picturing Steve’s smile, and he nodded silently as he hit delete.

“Shithead,” he muttered good-naturedly. Leave it to Steve and his impeccable timing to make Bucky’s day. He went into his caller ID log and found his best friend’s number and hit the button, picking up the handset. He answered one the third ring. Bucky grinned at the deep rasp of his voice, tinged with sleep.

“What’s up, Buck? Wondered if I’d catch you. Been running around?” Bucky could hear the slight shifting of blankets and pillows in the background, because of _course_ he’d manage to wake Steve up from a nap, horrible friend that Bucky was.

“Did I wake the beast? You pull an all-nighter?”

“Yeah,” Steve groaned, drawing out the syllable slightly as he stretched. “But it’s done. I hate deadlines. Did I ever mention that?”

“Does every time I call count? What was this one for?”

“Comic panel commission. Full-color. That’ll keep me in ramen for a week.”

“The good ramen or the dollar store kind?”

“The dollar store kind _is_ the good kind.”

“We are _not_ friends anymore if you believe that, Rogers. You’re a heathen.”

“The most unwashed heathen you know. I’m just about to make ramen and eggs for dinner – “

“Oh, God.” Bucky made rolphing noises, pantomiming poking his finger down his throat, even though Steve couldn’t see it. “Disgusting.”

“It’s what’s for dinner!” Steve told him cheerfully, using the same tone as the beef commercial of old. “C’mon. You know you love it. You love it so much you want me to come knock on your front door right now and breathe the aroma in your face-“

“Ugh… God, no! Just… no. We would _not_ be friends.” But Bucky felt a wistful stirring in his chest.

He had no problems with Steve coming to his front door, nor with him being up in his face, but he wouldn’t – couldn’t – share that with him at the moment. Bucky was still working that out in his head and coming up with the same answer, every time.

Steven Grant Rogers was his best friend since grade school. College separated them for a few years, until Steve transferred from NYU to join Bucky at Syracuse for their last couple of semesters. It’d been like they’d never been apart, falling back into their familiar roles, even after Bucky’s accident. Bucky had changed his phone number twice before Steve finally caught up to him on Facebook, having found him on Clint’s “People You May Know” page after an exhaustive search through about a thousand James Barneses. Bucky kept himself pretty hidden online after a disastrous relationship crumbled, since Brock Rumlow was a psycho. He _still_ occasionally stalked Bucky online, despite how tight Bucky kept his security preferences on his accounts. It was creepy. But ten months of the other man’s jealousy, including alienating Bucky’s friends, blocking his calls from his parents, going through his mail, and generally acting like he was Bucky’s “handler” instead of lover had been more than enough.

Steve, Becca and Thor came to his rescue the day that he moved out, taking along his meager belongings and furnishings – Brock destroyed the sectional couch that they purchased, citing that “half of it was his” – and Bucky was eventually grateful that it only took him a half an hour to get the hell out of there. Thor was ruthlessly efficient, hoisting Bucky’s old campus trunks over his shoulder and thudding down the stairs while Steve and Becca made short, quick trips with his boxes of toiletries and suitcases. Bucky’s phone was locked with a passcode once he realized Brock had been hacking into his messages to his landlord begging him to release him from their lease. Steve never judged him for it, not for one minute, never blaming or shaming Bucky for being in a relationship for so long with someone that possessive and selfish. He just calmly drove Bucky’s car through afternoon traffic with the meager trailer hooked up behind them while Bucky explained away his tears as “allergies” before brushing them away from the passenger seat. Becca shared the backseat with Prudence as she slept in her cage, feathers rising and falling as she gave little shivers from the rumble of Bucky’s old, battered Toyota. Bucky was stirred from his miserable musings and resentment by Steve’s gentle grip on his knee, thumb rubbing along the seam of Bucky’s jeans where they creased. Steve glanced at him between looks into the rearview mirror, concerned and comforting.

“You’re gonna be okay, Buck.” His voice was low, barely discernible under the beat of a rock oldies station blaring from the deck. Steve didn’t always realize how loud his music was when he left his hearing aid out, sometimes forgetting to put it in when he was really busy or stressed to the point of distraction. Bucky would visit him at Steve’s equally humble apartment – the other half of a duplex that his elderly friend Peggy Carter was renting to him for a song – and find himself being greeted in shouting tones, until Bucky would go to the kitchen table and reach for his device, tucking it into his friend’s ear while he puttered around in the cabinets. Steve would grin at him and give him a little shove of thanks before resuming their conversation as Bucky made himself at home. Brock always despised Steve, Bucky remembered bitterly. That should have been his first clue to get the hell out of Dodge.

Bucky and Steve made time for each other around Bucky’s job with FAA – he installed landing software at various airports and worked with air traffic controllers as a contractor, which meant that he traveled a lot – and Steve’s work with an ad firm as a graphic designer. It was a small firm, so he often took art commissions to make ends meet, since living in the city wasn’t cheap. But both men loved the night life, public transportation, and the diverse community that it offered over living in the ‘burbs, and Bucky’s sister and parents lived a hop, skip and a jump from over in Woodbridge. Steve had moved around a lot for a while since they graduated after his mother passed away from a stroke. He wouldn’t admit that losing her as his anchor left him so adrift, having nowhere that he really felt he belonged. Bucky knew that was a big draw for him to live in Peggy’s building. Her cracker jack personality and dry wit reminded Steve of Sarah, and she was full of folksy remedies when Steve passed by her front door or came up the driveway coughing up a lung (which was often). In return, Steve mowed her lawn and made trips to the pharmacy and supermarket for her whenever she needed it and helped her with small repairs.

Steve and Bucky had a “bromance” style friendship, joined at the hip and on each other’s speed dial. All Bucky had to do was _think_ that the walls seemed to be closing in on him on bad days, and Steve’s number would flash on his smartphone screen moments later, demanding that they needed to go to the multiplex or the park. Bucky adjusted his habits for his friend over the years, keeping his own cupboards stocked with cough medicines, pain relievers, and acid blockers that he seldom used himself; avoiding ammonia-based cleaners, since Steve was allergic to them, and by extension, anything with fragrance; not putting nuts or peanut butter in anything anymore, because ditto to nuts; keeping a spare toothbrush and a pair of pajama pants in Steve’s size in his apartment for him, on the odd chance that one of their weekend benders ended up in Steve not making it all the way home during the wee hours; and Steve’s Netflix preferences being saved in Bucky’s menu. The two of them would mainline Doctor Who, Misfits, Farscape and Star Trek on any given weekend while inhaling late brunches of bacon, potatoes, and _more bacon_ on Bucky’s old, slightly stained khaki couch.

 

Steve broke through Bucky’s musings again. “What are you eating for dinner, anyway?”

“Subway,” Bucky admitted as he unwrapped the unremarkable twelve-inch cobbled together from something calling itself an asiago roll. He took a large bite, leaning over the kitchen table to let the crumbs drop onto the white and yellow printed paper. “Didn’t feel like cooking for myself. Becca ran me ragged.”

“Ahhhhh… fun.” Steve sounded slightly sympathetic, at least. “Wish I could’ve gone…”

“Liar. Be glad you’re an only child.”

“Bullshit. You’d take a bullet for that girl.”

“Weddings suck, Stevie. Swear to God, I’m not bringing this on myself if I ever find anyone to spend the rest of my life with. We’re talking courthouse steps, a justice of the peace, ‘I now pronounce you Bucky Barnes and Lovin’ Spouse,’ and chips and dip afterwards.” Steve chuckled.

“Nice. Clam dip, though. Make it classy.”

“Bet you want me to serve the good chips, too.”

“Ruffles, all the way,” he agreed. “Should be nice, though, once it’s all put together.”

“It will be. It is,” Bucky clarified. “She and my mom have been pulling all-nighters planning this. The guest list is ridiculous, even after you count out the no’s-with-regrets. Becca redid the seating arrangement _twice_.”

“Ouch.”

“And I’m gonna be in ecru.”

“Uh…”

“Apparently that’s a thing. Ecru is the new black.”

“What was wrong with the old black?”

“Wouldn’t go with the Tiffany blue that well. I know jack-shit about any of it, and I’m fine with keeping it that way, Stevie. We spent _two_ hours in the rental shop today.” Bucky smirked. “The most exciting part of the afternoon was having my inseam measured…”

“You dog, you.” Steve’s tone was deadpan. Bucky heard him in the background flipping channels.

“What’re you watching?”

“Might go with a Heroes marathon.” Bucky made a sound of mock-disgust.

“What the fuck. Watch it over _here._ You can even bring your nasty ramen and eggs.”

*

Steve eventually showed up with a pizza instead from a greasy pizza-and-wing place that was just around from Bucky’s building downtown, and the two of them inhaled it while repeating the first season of Heroes. Both of them were stretched out with their feet up on the coffee table, not standing on ceremony. Prudence was back in her cage, hopping from one rail to the next to get Steve’s attention, since she adored the little blond. Steve, by the same token, was absolutely sickening with the parakeet, letting her nuzzle him and kiss his cheek, and more than once, Bucky had walked in on Steve scribbling on Bucky’s Post-It notes while waiting for Bucky to get ready for their nights out, with Prudence perched right up on top of his head, grooming his hair. The two of them had no shame…

“So you’ve got your suit?” Steve garbled at him through a mouthful of cheese and pepperoni. Bucky nodded as he dredged a jagged strip of crust through his puddle of ranch dressing.

“Finally. It was a close thing, Stevie. The tie was the _wrong shade of Tiffany blue._ It was off by that much.”

“Would’ve looked like crap in the pictures,” Steve told him simply, shrugging. “Ecru was probably the best call.” Bucky side-eyed him, then shook his head.

“Seriously? How are we friends? Why the heck is it such a big deal? It’s like, a half a shade of a half of a shade of difference. You can’t even _tell_ the difference.”

“Eh. You kinda can. I can, anyway.” Of course, Steve was the artist, and of _course_ he would side with Becca on something like the color of a tie that no one would _really_ notice, anyway.

“Maybe she should’ve taken you, then. This stuff’s right up your alley.”

“You’re her brother. You’re supposed to be supportive.”

“No, I’m not! I’m supposed to give her a hard time, and then run when she tells Mom and Dad,” Bucky argued. “That’s my job.”

“Might as well have been punching a clock,” Steve agreed. “God, she was fun when she’d cut up…”

“Still is.”

“She almost finished with the small details?”

“Nope. It’s the small details that are driving her batshit crazy,” Bucky emphasized as Steve tugged another slice loose from the box where the cooling cheese was gluing it to the cardboard. “That, and-“ He caught himself, snapping his mouth shut. He’d almost said it. 

“What?” Steve peered at him through his bifocals, and Bucky saw the flickering television screen’s image in their lenses until he focused more clearly on him, seeing Steve’s robin’s egg blue eyes regarding him with amusement. “What other small detail?”

“It’s stupid. It’s just… bullshit. We’ve already got a huge-ass wedding party. I mean, six couples is enough, right? But her maid of honor is engaged and bringing a date,” Bucky told him. Steve chuckled under his breath. 

“So what’s the big deal?”

“Becca hates odd numbers.” That made Steve snicker and nod.

“Aaahhhhh… got it. Of _course_ she does.”

“And of course Becca the Perfectionist pounced on me today and threatened me within an inch of my life if I don’t bring a date along with me to sit with at the head table.”

“Makes sense.” Bucky gave him a sour look. “What? You knew this was coming, Buck. Clint’s coming with Nat, Thor’s bringing Jane, Tony will no doubt show up with God-only-knows which girlfriend of the week, and Sam’s probably bringing Monica.”

“She seems decent,” Bucky considered. Sam and his current squeeze, Monica Rambeau, were both rebounding from more serious relationships, but it was a good fit, the two of them certainly established enough to show up at a wedding together without it seeming awkward. 

“Who’s Logan bringing again?”

“Jean. They’re trying to patch things up.” That was another detail Becca had been fretting about. Jean and Logan separated a couple of months after the couple agreed to be in Becca’s wedding party, and Bucky’s sister had been apoplectic.

“So, that really only leaves me.”

“Are you surprised?”

“Eh. Well… yeah.” Bucky paused before tucking a piece of pepperoni into his mouth. “Figured you’d have a date by now.”

“Are you kidding? I haven’t had time!”

“You work with a lot of nice girls,” Steve pointed out.

“And a lot of nice guys,” Bucky interjected.

“Exactly. Gotta be one that you could take along for the night that might like to knock back some champagne and do a few stupid dances.”

“Maybe a couple,” Bucky admitted. “But it’d be weird. I could ask one of them, and I could take them, and it’d be okay, but it’d also be weird. I mean, people at work _know_ me.” Namely, they knew about Bucky’s break-up with Brock and how gun-shy he was about dating anyone else. Once in a while, Bucky would get an offer of coffee or lunch from his coworkers, since he was cute enough and very easygoing and open, but he just didn’t feel like jumping into anything. The next person he dated wouldn’t necessarily be the next “Brock.” But Bucky just wasn’t the old “Bucky.”

“Anyone you hang out with at the gym interested in going?”

“Nah. No one I’d feel like showing off to polite company.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re really picky?”

“I’m not ‘picky.’ I’m just not in the mood to ask some random person to be my ‘just for looks’ plus-one for the night when no one’s gonna be paying attention to me, anyway. And it’d just be too weird.”

“Even if you just brought a friend?”

“I don’t know who would even wanna go,” Bucky complained. “I just… I don’t know.” His voice was strained. “It’s Becca’s big day, not mine. This shouldn’t matter, but it matters.”

“You’ll have a good time, Buck. It’s not every day that your twin sister gets married. Just go, smile, drink and dance, then, whether you have a date or not.” Steve got up and stretched, and Bucky immediately missed his warmth. They sat hunched together on the couch, which sagged slightly in the middle, almost urging them to huddle close every time they shared it. Once in a while, Steve nodded off against Bucky’s shoulder, but Bucky never disturbed him or urged to move. Steve came back to the couch with two chilled sodas, handing Bucky one. He beamed up at him and almost imperceptibly nudged himself back up against him when he sat back down.

“Who are you bringing?” Bucky asked him, because he was a turd when he wanted to be, and Steve fully acknowledged that his best friend could be horrible and worth smacking.

“I’m coming all by my little lonesome, because your sister has no say in whether I bring a plus-one,” Steve bragged smugly.

“Asshat.”

“Hey, I’m not blood. I get to hover next to the hosted bar and tap my foot to the music and make small talk with little old ladies who ask me when it’s my turn.” Because that was Steve inevitably did at weddings at this point in his life, a college graduate working for an unimpressive wage, watching his peers slowly build their families. Steve just smiled from the back of the buffet line in his good gray suit and eschewed offers to dance, since he really, _really_ couldn’t. They watched their show companionably. Bucky worked on twisting and tugging the pull-tab off his half-empty can, leaving the little loop intact, since he was that dork who never stopped collecting them, just because. A couple of his nieces enjoyed using them to make jewelry. 

“What are you gonna wear?” Bucky asked him numbly.

“Probably not ecru, unless your sister asked me to,” Steve said. “I dunno. Might go shopping next weekend.” He grinned at Bucky. “Promise I won’t embarrass you, Buck. Not much, anyway.”

*

Steve was as good as his word. Bucky ended up tagging along with him to the Pentagon Mall galleria to pick something out.

“I thought you were gonna wear your gray suit,” Bucky argued when he met him at Steve’s place while his friend grabbed his wallet and unplugged his phone from the charger. They locked up with a jingle of Steve’s keys and took off on foot, catching the southbound bus to the metro station.

“Nah. I just need something different.” He didn’t specify why. Bucky wondered if Steve had found a date after all, but he said nothing. They hit a couple of different shops, and Steve found a relatively noncommittal white silk shirt that still cost a grip, but when he came out of the changing room to show Bucky, he paused in searching the rack of ties to stare at his friend. Bucky wandered over to him and touch the sleeve gently, rubbing the fabric between his finger and thumb, but mostly he just wanted to touch Steve, feeling his warmth beneath the slick, rich cloth.

“That’s not bad,” Bucky said hoarsely.

“Pick me out a tie?” he asked him. The salesgirl pointed out a selection of Gucci ties, but Bucky thanked her before he began to riffle through the Van Heusen ones, trying to find one that wouldn’t make Steve looking like he was working retail or going to a funeral. He spent the next ten minutes holding them up to his friend, just grazing his slender throat, trying not to flush whenever he felt his pulse.

The ended up at the Four Corners shopping center and hit Nordstrom’s, and this time, Bucky accompanied Steve into the changing suite, one of the bigger ones with a small bench inside. Bucky uncrumpled Steve’s discarded day clothes while he changed; his best friend wasn’t shy about changing in front of Bucky after years of sleepovers and sleep-away summer camp and trips to the beach. Rather than spend an exhaustive amount of time quibbling about any particular suit, Bucky just asked Steve his size and found four sets in four different colors, just a simple, single-breasted cut by Haggar that wouldn’t break Steve’s budget and leave him in boxed mac and cheese (or his godawful ramen, Bucky shuddered to himself). Bucky brought in three belts in a size 30 and looped them over the hook for Steve to try with each pair of slacks.

“I’m gonna hafta hem these,” Steve grumbled. 

“That’s what you get, Mighty Mouse.”

“Asshat,” Steve retorted. “Seriously, though, who do they make these pants for, Shaq?” The cuffs of the pants were pooling over the tops of his feet by several inches.

“The waist is a nice fit, though,” Bucky told him while pretending he wasn’t staring at his small, tight little butt. “The gray one’s nice.”

“I’m sick of gray,” Steve told him, though. “It’s safe, but it’s ‘gray.’”

“It’s just nice on you,” Bucky told him softly. “Brings out your eyes.” He caught a glance of his own reflection for a moment, and Bucky flushed when he saw how dreamy his own reflection looked in that instant, how much he could possibly be giving away.

“I just feel like I’ll be back to wearing the same old gray suit,” Steve admitted.

“Go a step darker. Like charcoal.” Steve shrugged out of the jacket, and Bucky helpfully took it from him, replacing it on the hanger and handing him the darker one. He started to put it on but lost his grip on the second sleeve for a moment, before Bucky caught it and helped him thread his hand through it. Bucky ran his hands over the shoulders of the jacket – Steve’s shoulders, by extension – and backed off for a moment, trying to suppress this need to touch him.

“That’s… nice. On you.”

“Do I look okay?” Steve turned his back on Bucky, but he stared into his reflection’s face, then snuck a critical glance at himself. “It isn’t ‘bleah?’”

“No. It’s not.”

He looked beautiful, the deep gray bringing out his beautiful eyes and creating a clean, crisp backdrop for his wheat blond hair and fair skin. Steve nervously licked his deep pink lips and ran a hand through his hair. “I need a haircut at some point,” he complained.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” Bucky claimed innocently, “but you were starting to have that whole seventies-sitcom look going on, so…” Steve kicked him in umbrage. “Nah. It won’t need much off.” Bucky handed him one of the ties, a safe gray one, but Steve made a face.

“Not this one.”

“Not for the color, just for the print,” Bucky assured him, and he stood behind him, manhandling him to face the mirror like Pepper and Becca had him the week before. He draped the tie in question around his neck and began expertly tying it for him.

“Gee, thanks, Mom,” Steve grumbled, but he suffered it. Bucky hummed as he worked on it, fingers flying deftly. His warm breath stirred the hairs on Steve’s nape as he leaned in, checking that the ends were even as he slid the knot up into place. “That’s not straight, Buck.”

“I’m straightening it, sheesh…” Bucky leaned over his shoulder, and his chin brushed it slightly as he leaned down to look at it. “See? It’s even, princess. Quit your bitching.” Steve shivered at the warmth of his body at his back and the faint whiff of Bucky’s aftershave. Bucky dusted off his shoulders briefly, firmly, hands settling there for a moment as they both stared at Steve’s shoulders.

“Not bad,” Bucky murmured.

“I’ll pass muster,” Steve agreed hollowly. He didn’t recognize his own voice; his mouth had gone dry, and Bucky’s hands felt hot. He still felt his warm puffs of breath against his skin and saw him briefly bite that full, rosy bottom lip of his. 

“I’ll… let you change. Get that one.” 

“Which belt?” Steve asked, suddenly feeling bereft of his heat, snapping out of his stupor once Bucky began fiddling with the hangers, retrieving the black blazer and slacks from the changing bench. 

“It won’t matter, I guess. No one will really notice it,” Bucky told him quickly.

He needed to get the hell out of there. Being with Steve in the changing room was doing things to him, compromising his reason and self-control, and if Bucky had to watch that sweet little ass shrink-wrapped in gray boxer briefs emerge one more time from a pair of dress slacks, he couldn’t be held accountable for what he would do.

They scraped together enough change from their pricey shopping trip – Bucky bought himself some black dress socks – and splurged on Orange Julius on their way back to the bus. The silence between them once they were back on the metro deck was both deafening and out of character. Bucky wondered if Steve was affected like he was by their contact earlier, but he shook himself. It wasn’t Steve’s fault that Bucky insinuated himself into his space and took liberties that Bucky _hoped_ he didn’t construe as “liberties.” God, he hoped not… They rode the train through noisy tunnels, bumping each other occasionally where they held onto the pole; Bucky instinctively reached for him to steady Steve, who gave him sheepish smiles. The car was crowded with commuters. Both of them made faces of disgust when they were cropdusted by a gassy old man in waist-hugging khakis and huge, post-cataract sunglasses reading the Post.

They reached Steve’s place and Bucky watched Steve hang his suit up on its garment bag. “Got shoes?” Bucky asked him. “Might be able to pick you up a pair from the tux shop?”

“You don’t have to go through the trouble, Buck,” Steve told him. “Thanks for helping me. I’m hopeless in stores.”

“Pay me a few bills a week, and I’ll be your PA. I’ll even hold your umbrella,” Bucky joked. Steve looked at him oddly for a moment. He opened his mouth, then shut it. “What?”

“Um…so. What time does Becca want you at the church?”

“Two for pictures.” Bucky made a face. “The reception starts at five, but we’re heading over at four-thirty after we take _more_ pictures.”

“Okay.” Steve rubbed his nape, and he looked like he was chewing on something.

“Um… you… don’t have to stick around for pictures, obviously. You’re not in the wedding, so why suffer, right?”

“Yeah. No. It’s not… like I’d be _suffering,_ if I _did_ stick around, y’know… I just figured, like, if you don’t have to go there in a limo, or anything-“

“Becca’s going in a limo with her bridemaids to the church, and then she’s leaving for the reception in it with Stan,” Bucky told him. 

“- that maybe, um… I could save you some gas and parking and take you.”

Steve looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him. Bucky was stunned, barely registering what he was suggesting.

“You. You’d take me. With… you.”

“Yeah. Just… I dunno. Figured it wouldn’t hurt, might be more… convenient.”

“I wouldn’t… mind that too much, actually.”

“You _did_ say it would be kinda weird to go with anyone else,” Steve pointed out shyly. “And I’m kinda going, anyway.”

“Would you mind sitting at the head table with me?” Bucky joked. “You’d get to hit the buffet line before the rest of the crowd.”

“Jerk,” Steve huffed. “Because that’s the only reason why I’d show up with you.”

“You _are_ kinda an opportunist,” Bucky teased, lips twisting in an uneven smirk. But his heart was pounding and his hands felt clammy. “So, yeah. Just… y’know, if you wanna get ready over here, you can. You keep stuff over here, anyway.” Steve had spare toiletries of his tucked in Bucky’s vanity. “That should save some time.”

“Okay. That sounds good.” Steve beamed, and Bucky knew he was in trouble.

*

It didn’t help that Becca called him the next day to ~~ask~~ badger him about his date arrangement for the reception. “I need a final count for the caterer,” she nagged him over the phone while Bucky went through his work emails that morning.

“Well, add one more for the main table.” Her intake of breath was sharp and weighted.

“Who?”

“Steve. You invited him, anyway,” Bucky reminded her. The silence on the other end of the line was hollow and charged.

“Oh. Okay. That was… unexpected.”

“What? It’s no big deal. Now you won’t have to plant Steve at one of the guest tables or try to fix him up with anyone.” At those words, Bucky bit his own tongue.

“I wasn’t trying to fix him up with anyone,” Becca argued, but Bucky was skeptical.

“You mentioned your friend Sharon, the one with the weird laugh who towers over him,” Bucky pointed out.

“Okay, a) she’s nice, b) I mentioned him to her for a minute, and she said she was going to wear flat sandals, not heels, and c) that’ll save him having to make small talk with a bunch of strangers. She’s a friend of mine, so _technically_ that doesn’t make her a _stranger_.” Then she took a different tack. “I have another friend from work who I’ve been telling about _you._ You and Steve don’t have to pair off as a last resort-“

“Who said we’re pairing off? We’re not pairing off,” Bucky told her in a rush, exasperated and flushing, glad she wasn’t sitting across from him at the moment. “We’’ll have a nice, safe, even number at the main table, Steve won’t have to sit next to anyone creepy, and everyone’s happy. Right?”

*

Right.

Bucky was an anxious, nervous hot mess by the time Steve knocked on his door. The small blond was panting slightly from the climb up the steps, and he was dangling his garment bag over his shoulder. It was one o’clock, and Bucky spent the whole morning cleaning his apartment and shopping for toiletry items, having his hair trimmed, and buying Becca a gift card. Steve’s cheeks were flushed, but, Bucky noticed, he’d had his hair trimmed, too. It fell in neat, soft waves over his brow, the shorter length leaving his nape almost bare. He looked so handsome that Bucky’s mouth went dry.

“You clean up nice,” Bucky told him after a moment of stunned silence. “Come in. I can’t tell my ass from my head right now, but come in.”

“Chill out, Buck.”

“Becca’s called me five times this morning, Stevie. Five.”

“She’s just nervous.”

“Yeah, well. Misery loves company.” Bucky’s hair was still damp from a hasty shower. “I’m gonna shave. You can get dressed in their first.” He gestured to his bedroom door. Steve loped into his room with the garment bag, but not before he handed him a small white sack.

“Brought you a donut.”

“Bless you,” Bucky muttered gratefully as he took it. He took a large, undignified bite, groaning loudly and rolling his eyes at the flavors of glaze and grease. “You’re a prince among men.” Steve cleared his throat, hating how his pants tightened immediately at the sound Bucky made, yet wishing he’d make it again.

“Right. Go shave. Your sister will kill me if I let you out of the apartment looking like Uncle Sy.” Bucky smirked at him as he disappeared into the bathroom. Steve heard the water running and the smack of Bucky’s razor against the sound of the sink through the closed door as he retreated to his room. Steve undressed quickly, fingers fumbling over zippers and buttons because his hands were shaking. This is ridiculous, he reasoned silently. It wasn’t like he never changed over at Bucky’s before, or found himself on the other side of Bucky’s bed when both of them would collapse after a bender. Granted, he usually woke up with Bucky’s toes practically stuffed in his mouth, since they both favored opposite ends of the bed, and Bucky’s mattress was due to be replaced, since it was beginning to bow and get an uncomfortable dip. He more than often slept with his head at the foot of the bed avoid a crick in his back. That was another thing, in the back of his mind, that he wanted to do for Steve’s benefit. Steve never complained about his mattress, but he had a bad back, and Bucky knew a firmer one would be more comfortable for him…

Still. It wasn’t like Steve came to his place specifically to _sleep._ Did he. No.

Steve shuffled into the suit, trying to squelch and push down his growing nervousness as he buttoned himself up and began shoving his street clothes into his duffle so they wouldn’t be lying on Bucky’s floor in a heap. He was just sinking down onto the bed, about to pull on his dress socks then he heard Bucky call for him.

“Hey, Steve? C’mere for a sec?”

“Yeah, Buck?” He shuffled down the hall in his bare feet, tie hanging open from his neck. “What’s… up?”

Bucky stood in his dress slacks, bare from the waist up, skin still gleaming from his shower. His hair was slick as a seal’s, and his cheeks were slightly rosy and smooth from his shave. His jaw and cheekbones were sharp and defined, with no stubble to distract from that wicked little cleft in his chin.

God, he was gorgeous. Steve was _so_ fucked…

“How does my hair look?” He turned his back, letting Steve check out his ponytail. With it pulled back, his nape was exposed, with stray dark hairs sprinkled just past the edge of his hairline. Steve wanted to watch them stir with his warm breath, wanted to close in on the scent of Bucky’s skin…

“It’s straight. Looks good from here,” Steve told him easily. His damned cheeks felt hot, and his eyes flitted away as he tried not to stare, but Bucky wasn’t through with him yet.

“How’s my face?” He tilted his face this way and that, catching Steve’s eyes in the mirror.

Steve’s blue eyes smoldered behind his glasses, and his face was strained. Bucky couldn’t quantify what he was seeing. “Steve?” he asked furtively. “Do I look all right?”

“Clean shave,” Steve muttered. “Becca won’t raise too much of a ruckus just because you didn’t chop off your hair.” Then Steve squinted. “You missed a spot.”

“What? With the razor?” Bucky swiveled his face back around to the mirror, pulling down his upper lip to peek at the space under his nostrils.

“No. Just… here.” Steve picked up Bucky’s damp bath towel and reached for his face. Slender fingers reached for Bucky’s jaw and the edge of the towel scrubbed at a stray speck of shaving cream. Bucky tingled all over, stomach clenching at the contact. Damn it. This was _not_ the time for this. “Spick and span,” Steve pronounced. “Pretty as a picture.”

Well, that wasn’t helping Steve’s case at all, was it? “Get dressed, lazy ass!” he scolded to cover the emotions that were leaking out onto his face.

“Yeah, yeah. Get outta my way, then, punk.” He gave Steve a shove out of the door before he nimbly slammed it after him, taking Steve’s brief smirk with him. But when Bucky glanced at himself again in the mirror, his face was flushed, his nipples were ruched, hard little buds, and his eyes were dilated…

Bucky needed to get a grip, and more importantly, get dressed.

*

The ride to the church was easy enough. In the end, they decided to take Steve’s car, making him the designated driver for the night, since he was a lightweight anyway. Steve tried, and failed, to ignore how handsome Bucky looked in his tux with that unassuming ecru tie.

Bucky wasn’t having better luck. He squelched the urge to hug Steve when he noticed that Steve’s tie was, amusingly enough, ecru thinly striped in Tiffany blue. “Where did you get that?” Bucky asked, nodding to it as Steve adjusted the air conditioning, turning it up so Bucky wouldn’t sweat to death in the heavy jacket. Steve’s wonky thyroid tended to make him run cold most of the time, and he was comfortable for the moment.

“Nordstrom’s. I went back for it. Your sister’s funny, Buck. Becca seriously texted me a photo of her fabric swatches. She wanted to make sure we matched.” Steve grinned. Bucky facepalmed.

“Oh, my Goddddd…” he groaned. “How am I related to such a control freak?”

“It’s just the wedding. Of course she’s acting a little batshit and obsessed,” Steve assured him, giving Bucky a little shove. “She’ll be back to normal after the honeymoon.”

“Or what passes for normal with Becca,” Bucky corrected him.

“Look who’s talking,” Steve prodded. “Showing up to the wedding looking like a Harlequin cover model, and you’re taking _me_ as your plus-one.” Steve shook his head. “You really had a hard time getting a date?”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Bucky told him, shoving him back. He reached out to ruffle Steve’s hair to piss him off, but Steve batted his hand away. “I’m not gonna spend several hours at the reception with my nosey family with someone random and hear everyone ask me all night, ‘So when’s it YOUR turn, Jimmy?”

“They call you Jimmy?” Steve wrinkled his nose. “You hate that.”

“My grandmothers and aunts are the only ones who are really ‘allowed,’” Bucky told him with quotey fingers. “Everyone else does it just to be a pain in the ass.”

“I never liked you as a Jimmy,” Steve admitted. Then his face heated up. “I mean… it doesn’t work for you. You just… you’ve always been Bucky to me.” Bucky shoved him again.

“I know that, dummy. You were the one that started calling me Bucky, anyway.” Because of course Steve did. And it stuck. Bucky’s parents followed the tradition of naming all of the sons with their dads’ middle names, and George Barnes often went by Jim himself, since “George” was so old fashioned, and Bucky hated it when he and his dad both looked up whenever anyone called out their names at family gatherings. And to be honest, Bucky just _hated_ “Jimmy.” Just, _no_.

“Someone had to come to your rescue.” Never mind that Bucky, in the more literal sense, usually bailed _Steve_ out of scrapes on the playground and in the courtyard afterschool. When your best friend was the shortest kid in the class and started wearing reading glasses halfway through kindergarten, you had to keep the target off his back.

They pulled into the church parking lot, where Bucky saw the other groomsmen milling around outside, polished and uncomfortable looking as he was. “Gang’s all here,” he muttered as Steve set the parking brake and cut the engine.

“What time are the girls getting here?”

“No clue. Becca’s been having a shit fit about starting on time, but you know she’ll be dragging her feet getting here.” Bucky was still a little off his own game, having gone to the bachelor party for the groom the night before. A smear of Preparation H took care of the bags under Bucky’s eyes from the late night, but he didn’t drink much, knowing he was on tap to soothe his sister’s nerves. Bucky had developed a knack for it.

Tony jogged over to them expectantly, beard impeccably trimmed and chipper thanks to two Monster drinks and a chocolate glazed donut. “Don’t _you_ two make a pretty picture,” he teased. “Which one of you lovely ladies plans to catch the bouquet? Play nice, now. No shoving…”

“Fuck off,” Bucky told him, smirking as he shook Tony’s hand. “What time did you get home?”

“Little after three. Might have woke up in an unfamiliar bed. Think I drank tequila.”

“Did it taste like you drank tequila?” Steve inquired.

“No, but there was salt on random places on my body. When you wake up covered in margarita salt, there’s a story behind it, and a brunette who looks _very_ different when she wakes up with most of her makeup slept off.”

“Please tell me that isn’t your date,” Bucky begged. Tony raised his hand over his heart innocently.

“Of _course_ not,” he argued. “She had plans today, so she wasn’t free.”

“Jesus,” Steve muttered, both parts scandalized and entertained.

“I brought Pepper,” Tony told them triumphantly.

“Pepper? That’s someone’s name?” Steve demanded.

“Pepper?” Bucky asked blankly. “Like… shopgirl Pepper? The clerk at the tuxedo shop?”

“She cleans up nice. So be polite.” Almost on cue, Bucky and Steve caught sight of the tall strawberry blonde in the chapel’s doorway, waving shyly. Tony beamed at her, winking.

“Becca hounds me for months about a date, and you bring the shopgirl.”

“And you brought _Steve._ Because no one’s gonna have anything to say about _that._ ” Tony’s expression held no pity, and his eyes had a wicked gleam. “Save me a chicken dance, boys!” Tony was about to walk into the church until the photographer beckoned to him to join him on the side lawn. 

“That’s my cue,” Bucky told Steve regretfully.

“Smile pretty. Don’t get any grass stains on those pants,” he reminded him. Steve hesitated for a moment. “Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“You really do look nice today. I’ll, uh, just… head inside.”

“If you want,” Bucky told him, grasping at the chance not to separate quite yet. “Or, y’know… you could just hang out here?”

That was how Steve ended up on the church steps, watching the groomsmen mugging for some candid shots, then lining up by height for the posed pictures. The photographer, a young Empire State University student named Peter, expertly set up the shots, adjusting lighting as necessary and featuring the groom in poses that told a story. Logan looked more sober than the rest of them, only smiling grudgingly, but Bucky didn’t blame him. It couldn’t be easy having your not-quite-ex pairing up with you to help someone else get married. Logan no doubt needed his pants hemmed up even more than Bucky’s, he reasoned, and one of the biggest jackets they carried. Logan was pint-sized but built like a tank.

Bucky stole glances at Steve, watching the blonde greet guests, almost taking over ushering duty while he waited for Bucky to join him again. He was just so damned cute, cutting a dash in the suit, managing not to look like a kid borrowing his dad’s oversized clothes thanks to a little clever tailoring at the dry cleaner’s. His lithe little body managed not to get lost in the jacket, and the sleeves didn’t swallow up his hands. Steve polished his dress shoes, a nice pair of black loafers, and he swapped out his bifocals for contacts. His eyes looked huge and so blue, face perfectly framed by the fresh haircut, bumped up with a little product.

Bucky wished so badly to take him aside, even if it was just back to the car, and mess him up.

The limousine finally showed up, and Logan began barking out orders like a drill sergeant. “All right, everyone get yer asses inside. Stan, eyes front! Go, go, go!” He wrangled the groomsmen into the church. “You too, Petunia. Quit makin’ goo-goo eyes at yer date.”

“Steve… um… he’s not-“

“Don’t even try ta tell me otherwise, runt,” he deadpanned. “Yer not foolin’ anybody.” Luckily, Steve didn’t hear him; one of Bucky’s elderly aunts held his attention as he helped her up the stairs with her walker. Bucky felt the flush rising beneath his skin, and he was suddenly too hot. He rubbed his nape, tugging on his ponytail awkwardly.

“Uh… okay.”

“Yer dad’s already down at the end of the aisle,” Logan reminded him.

“I need to wait for Becca.”

“Car’s gonna pull her up to the side entrance,” Logan told him. “Meet her there.”

“Distract Stan. Don’t let him see.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Logan was a crusty old bastard, but he’d been a friend of the family forever. He aged surprisingly well; you never would have known that he went to high school with George. His skin was swarthy but unlined, only a few gray hairs infiltrating his coarse black waves, and he didn’t have an ounce of paunch.

Bucky made his escape, meeting Becca at the limo. He leaned inside and whistled. “How late did they keep you out last night, sis?”

“You don’t wanna know,” she moaned, but he could tell that nervousness was trumping exhaustion. “But we had a blast. I still have the condom veil, but we didn’t finish the scavenger hunt.”

“Oh, God. Pictures, or it didn’t happen.”

“No, Buck. NO PICTURES.” Bucky promised himself he’d pull her bridesmaids aside and thumb through their phones, and he simply shrugged.

“Show time, sweetheart.”

“Help me with my train.” Her maid of honor had already extricated herself from the clutch of girls a few minutes earlier. Bucky recognized Carol Danvers from Becca’s pictures in her photo collage hanging over her mantel. “Carol, take this, please.” She handed her the enormous bouquet while Bucky helped wrangle the fluffy tulle monstrosity that compromised Becca’s veil. “Don’t let it drag, baby brother.” She was older by six minutes, he groused silently. Six minutes.

“Yes, your Highness.”

“Is Sharon already here?” Carol asked sweetly, glancing at Bucky. Becca tried to feign innocence, but Bucky scowled at her bare back.

“Becca…”

“What? She RSVP’ed yes. It’s no big deal. She’ll be sitting in the second pew,” Becca assured him. “And the first table on the left at the reception hall. Just in case you were wondering.” Then, she amended, “or if Steve was wondering.”

“That’s enough,” Bucky informed her in annoyance.

They made it inside, and Becca took a cleansing breath as she entered the foyer. Bucky glanced in through the slightly cracked door, making sure that everyone was seated and that Stan was up front. He was polished, anxious as Becca, and pacing slightly and trying to make small talk. Bucky hissed at one of his cousins. “Go tell the organist we’re ready.” She nodded to him and darted up the side aisle to Bucky’s mother. Winifred looked up where she was pointing, and his mother smiled eagerly. He saw her mouthing, _George, go!_ , and his father cut off his conversation with Stan’s parents to resume father of the bride duty. Becca stepped back out of range of the door as he came through it. His eyes welled up. “Hi, Dad.”

“She made it,” Bucky joked, but his dad looked overwhelmed. Bucky clapped his shoulder, squeezing it. “Tell her she looks beautiful, Pop.” George merely nodded, and Becca’s eye makeup was in imminent danger of running as she grew misty-eyed, too. “No,” Bucky warned as he fished a handful of Kleenex out of a nearby box. The ushers thoughtfully provided them in the front lobby. “Take a breath. Stan’s been waiting for you, sweetie. Just hold it together.”

“I’m a wreck,” Becca admitted tearfully. Her father embraced her tightly.

“No. You’re ready, Becca. This is _your_ day,” George told her. “And I’m _so_ proud of my little girl.”

“I love you, Daddy,” she told him on a near-whimper. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

“Don’t keep him waiting, sweetheart. I love you, too.” Bucky’s own eyes were pricking dangerously, but he shook it off. The other groomsmen made their way up the side aisle and the bridesmaids filed out after them just as the organ began to play Pachelbel’s Canon. Bucky let Carol take his right arm – Becca changed her mind about which side she wanted the bridesmaids on once she remembered her brother’s feelings about his prosthetic – and the other five pairs lined up after them. Jean plastered on a smile that managed to be civil and bright as she took Logan’s arm toward the end, bringing up the end of the line as the shortest couple. Luna, Becca’s flower girl, was adorable in a fluffy tulle dress that mimicked the bride’s, and she walked down the aisle dutifully with her mother leading her by the hand. Franklin, their ringbearer, managed to make it halfway down the aisle until stage fright got the best of him, and he ducked into the pews to bury his face in his mother’s skirts until she, too, carried him the rest of the way down to low chuckles from the guests.

Bucky made it up to the front of the church, releasing Carol to stand opposite him at the front. 

Bucky chafed slightly at the feeling of everyone's eyes on him, even though he'd spent so much time reassuring Becca that she was the only one anyone would pay attention to. His prosthetic often guaranteed him a certain amount of scrutiny in mixed company. He moved up a bit to allow his fellow groomsmen enough space to stand at the end of the aisle. Tony joined him first, bumping his shoulder to get his attention.

"Little guy cleans up nice," he whispered, and he nodded in the direction of the bride's side of the pews. There sat Steve, four rows back, and his eyes were riveted on Bucky, a soft smile on his lips. Bucky blushed as he smiled back.

"He sure does," Bucky murmured back, just before the organist began the strains of the bridal march, and suddenly everyone in the chapel stood up. The music rose over the sounds of cameras and smartphones clicking away, and Becca and George strolled gracefully - nervously, granted - down the aisle, and Bucky's heart squeezed. Only at that moment did he consider the shift in the balance between himself and his twin, how marriage spelled out a change in his status as the first person she talked to about what was going on in her life. Stan was more than decent, but he and Becca were already discussing buying a house, partial to the burbs, even as far out of the way as southern Maryland, and Bucky didn't want to think of a time in his life where he wouldn't be able to meet Becca downtown or show up on her front doorstep minutes after she nagged him to bring her coffee or cried to him over a crisis.

She looked so radiant and beautiful, and even Tony cut him some slack when Bucky sniffled back a tear or three as George stepped back, letting Becca loop her hand through the crook of Stan's arm.

*

The ceremony was beautiful, not too long, and Bucky counted three babies who decided to cry during the service. Becca caught his eye briefly, looking equal parts horrified and amused; Winifred subscribed to the old wive's tale that a baby crying during a wedding meant a full cradle nine months later for the bride. Bucky and Carol led the way out of the church before the throng of guests started clamoring to meet the newlyweds. Peter the photographer herded the bridal party back out to the lawn for a few more shots, but Bucky's eyes scanned the perimeter for Steve.

"Hey." His deep voice reached Bucky from his elbow. Steve's hand found his lower back, just grazing it. "How you holding up?"

"Almost over," Bucky admitted.

"You look rattled."

"Just... a little overwhelmed."

"Buy you a drink?"

"Well, no ***t, Steve. It's a hosted bar." Steve grinned at him, giving him a little shove.

"Thought I'd sneak that by you. Wanted to see if you were still paying attention." He gestured to the growing group of people surrounding Bucky's sister. "I wanna go kiss the bride."

"Mind your manners, punk." And of course Steve would, that was a given.

...but, so help him, why the heck did Bucky feeling himself buzzing with envy when Steve gave Becca a chaste peck and brotherly embrace?

*

The ride to the reception hall was uneventful, but slightly tense. Steve kept stealing glances at him. "You okay?"

"M'fine." Bucky tore himself away from staring out the passenger window and chewing on his knuckle to meet Steve's eyes. "The day's catching up to me." He winced. "And these shoes kinda suck."

"Half the women there will be barefoot by the time they hit the dance floor and they've had a few," Steve reminded him. "You should be fine, as long as you're wearing your good socks." Bucky wrinkled his nose.

"I'm not taking off my shoes, Steve! That's just... _gross_."

"Why? No one will judge you for those bunions, or your webbed toes. They might not even say anything about that wart-" Bucky was about to pummel him, but Steve held his arm up to shield himself, eyes crinkling. "Kidding, kidding!"

"You suck."

"You love me, anyway."

Bucky only allowed his smile to falter once he turned back toward the passenger window.

Steve parked, and once they reached the front lobby, Steve begged off from immediately mingling to use the bathroom, leaving Bucky a minute to think. Conflicting emotions tumbled through his chest as he re-ran the events and revelations of the last few days through his head.

_I have feelings for Steve._ "Oh, my God," Bucky muttered aloud. There was no way, but... how else could he explain it? Friends hung out together, sure. Steve and Bucky stuck together like glue, and Steve was as comfortable to him as his most broken-in jeans. Friends could justify bickering like an old married couple and having "Say Uncle" fights in public or picking lint off of each other's clothes. Friends could share Saturday morning leftovers and breathe hangover breath in each other's faces and compare whose was worst. Friends could nod off against each other in movie theaters or on the couch or in ER waiting rooms (because of course they'd all forgiven Clint for that bar brawl in Baltimore when they went to that sports bar that made the awesome wings, even if they waited two hours for the CT scan of his knuckles, and the poor guy couldn't shoot for six weeks) and no one would question it.

And in Bucky's case, maybe, just maybe, friends could burn with unreasonable jealousy when their best friend – who was also technically his _date_ \- was being scoped out and fixed up with tall blondes that stepped straight out of a Victoria's Secret catalogue. Bucky diverted his attention from his aunt Helen, who was telling him for the third time that she couldn't believe how much he'd grown, even if his last growth spurt happened in the tenth grade. There was Becca, looping her arm around Steve's shoulders and re-introducing him to Sharon Carter, hair styled in a Brazilian blow-out, skin cleverly spray-tanned, and wearing, as Becca had promised, flat sandals that still showed off her endless legs.

"When did you say you graduated again, dear?"

"Two years ago, Auntie Helen."

"Oh... from high school?"

"Er. No. Syracuse. Could you... just... sorry." Bucky pecked her on the cheek and rushed off, making a beeline toward Steve, seeing his blond head flash among the circulating crowd. Steve was staring up – way up – into Sharon’s smiling face, already at a sheepish disadvantage, but his face was wreathed in relief when he saw Bucky approach.

“Can I steal this guy for a minute?” Bucky pleaded winningly. Becca gave him a dirty look, eyes widening as he blocked her matchmaking attempt. He gave her a look back that growled _Go fix up someone else’s date_ before he resumed his tidy smile for Sharon. Steve glanced down at Bucky’s hand firmly wrapped around his arm.

“Um… excuse us,” Steve told both women, and he allowed Bucky to lead him off and steer him through the crowd to the bar. “Bucky, what was that?”

“Becca was trying to fix you up.”

“She was cute,” Steve reasoned.

“You owe me a drink.”

“It’s a hosted bar,” Steve reminded him, confused, but he beckoned to the bartender, holding up two fingers. “One G&T with lime, and a pale ale, please.”

“Then the next one’s on me.”

“It’s probably bad form to just run off like that when your sister was trying to fix me up,” Steve told him.

“Sharon’s a pretty girl. She can get her own date.” Bucky nodded to the bartender as he accepted his gin, squeezing the lime wedge over the bobbing ice cubes and licking his fingers. Steve’s eyes tracked the movement, then stared at Bucky’s mouth.

“She kinda has an annoying laugh,” he murmured.

“Uh-huh.”

*

Bucky felt a warm, comfortable buzz after his first couple of drinks as he watched the bride and groom’s first dance, then the father of the bride dance, then the mother of the groom dance. His eyes began to glaze over, one schmaltzy ballad blending into the next.

“How you doing, Buck?”

“Feeling no pain,” he murmured, even though the same thoughts nagged him now that had when the day began. He and Steve had cleaned their dinner plates down to the last, slightly chewy crust of dinner roll, and they were slumping slightly in toward each other at the head table. But Bucky was relaxed, the most trying part of the day was over, and Steve…

Steve hadn’t left his side. He was just his funny, mellow, easygoing self, and he was adorable, and he smelled nice.

“I smell nice?” Steve asked, raising one blond brow. “Buck, how much have you had?”

He’d said that aloud. Oops.

“I could use another,” Bucky told him simply.

“Aren’t you supposed to be giving a speech in a few minutes?”

“Gotta warm up. Another gin, Stevie.” He held up praying hands. “Pretty please?” Steve gave him a long-suffering sigh.

“You’re gonna get us in trouble. I’m gonna have to post bail, aren’t I? Or peel you off the chandelier.”

“You love me, anyway.”

Steve’s face went blank, but he shook it off, gesturing over his shoulder to the bar. “I’ll just… get that gin. Back in a sec.”

The interminable slow dances were finally over, and the DJ began spinning some of the nineties hip-hop that Becca added to her playlist. Bucky’s fingers started tapping, and he was in the mood to cut a rug. A few of his younger cousins were congregating on the dance floor, chatting more than actually dancing, then looking horrified as their parents coupled up and started to boogie. _Finally_ things were beginning to liven up.

Steve came back with their drinks, then paused when he watched Bucky stand. “What’re you doing?”

“Gimme.” He reached for the tumbler, and Steve watched him toss back his drink in one raspy gulp. “Time to boogie.”

“Buck! Oh, God no… leggo, Buck! LEGGO! Please don’t!” Steve tried to wrest himself free, but Bucky shook his head.

“Have some of that, then you’re coming with me.” Steve dutifully chugged half his glass of beer, but he set it down reluctantly.

“Please don’t do this to me…”

“Stevie… you only live once. Mingle. Party hearty!”

“That was cheesy, and we’re _so_ not friends.”

“Stevie. Steviiiieeeeee…” Bucky gave him puppy dog eyes and a pouting, rosy lip, making it quiver for effect. Steve totally buckled, rolling his eyes and throwing up his hands. Bucky practically cackled as he dragged him out onto the floor. His younger cousins were delighted as he went out and busted a few moves, making ridiculous expressions and hamming it up. Steve stuck with a “safe move” out on the sidelines, clapping for his friend, until one of Bucky’s aunts grabbed Steve and brought him further out onto the floor. Steve’s eyes threatened Bucky with murder over her shoulder, and Bucky simply died.

Over the course of the next six songs, the dance floor grew packed enough that no one even noticed Steve’s awkward moves. Because there was no God, the DJ decided on the Macarena next, and Steve pleaded with Bucky to sit that one out.

“For the love of God, Bucky… I just _can’t._ ” Bucky was grinning at him, shaping his arms in the exaggerated motions of the dance, imitating his sister to his left.

“Work it, Stevie! Work it!” Bucky began mouthing the words, even though Steve wasn’t certain he even knew them all. “Heeeeyyyyy, Macarena!” Steve was eventually strong-armed into the dance, almost getting it by his third turn around the floor, even though he kept jumping in the opposite direction as the rest of the floor.

Bucky took pity on him and let him finish his beer, but the DJ pulled out all the stops, going through Becca’s playlist and taking requests on scribbled cocktail napkins. Steve was dragged to his feet again for the Cupid Shuffle – he almost got that one right – and the Cha-Cha Slide (hopeless) and he was just about done when Bucky dragged him into the Electric Slide a couple of songs later. With every refrain, he managed to trip and stumble into whomever was next to him in line, and he occasionally had to scamper out of the way. Bucky was loving it, cheering him on.

“You owe me _big_ , Barnes,” Steve chided him once he escaped again to down the rest of his beer. Steve had abandoned his jacket, draping it over the chair with Bucky’s. Bucky looked faintly tousled but sexy in his tuxedo vest, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up. His prosthetic was exposed, but he was among friends and family, beaming, pleasantly drunk and feeling no pain. Steve was out of breath, feet throbbing, cheeks flushed, and his carefully styled hair was beginning to stick up.

“Hey,” Bucky told him as he slumped down in the chair next to him. “Thanks.”

“What?” They were practically shouting over the music. Bucky leaned in closer.

“Thanks,” he murmured into his good ear. “Thanks for being my date.”

“Buck, you’re gonna do me such a solid after this, that you’re gonna be sorry you thanked me, and that you brought me,” Steve promised him, but his smile was indulgent. He gave Bucky’s shoulder a shove. “I’m having a good time.”

The urge to make a move played in Bucky’s head. Some part of him would blame the gin later on that night. He leaned in and grasped Steve’s wrist where it lay over his lap. “You _are_ a good time, Steve,” he said into his ear. His breath steamed the side of his throat. When he pulled back, Steve was staring, and just… flustered. Flushed, and clearing his throat. The muscles in his jaw were working, and his eyes pinned Bucky.

“Buck…” He glanced down at Bucky’s hand on his wrist, and Bucky felt the color drain from his own face at the sudden spike of awkwardness between them. His fingers twitched, then curled, picking at the weave of his slacks, but truly, he was staring at Bucky’s hand.

“Steve… I-“ Bucky’s words failed him, then died a miserable death as George Barnes clinked his fork against the delicate wine glass to get everyone’s attention. Bucky took that as his cue, and he swiftly released Steve and stood. Stewards were quickly making the rounds, offering guests flutes of champagne for the toast. Bucky joined George by the microphone as the music stopped, and his cheeks were flaming; Bucky felt raw and stifled, and the voices in the back of his mind were screaming at him that he’d just fucked up.

He mastered the wave of embarrassment and schooled himself not to stare in Steve’s direction, focusing instead on Becca. She was leaning back against Stan, sagging slightly with fatigue but still radiantly happy. “Can I get everyone’s attention, please?” George beckoned. “I just want to take a moment to offer a toast, to my daughter and new son-in-law, before I fall apart.” The guests chuckled and nodded in recognition. “I always knew this day would come, but never in what felt like so little time. I’ve had twenty-four of the best years ever with my children, James and Rebecca.” Bucky swallowed around a lump. He squeezed his father’s shoulder fondly, needing the contact to ground himself. “I couldn’t be more proud of both of them.” His speech was drawn out and sentimental, hitting all the right notes, including an anecdote about Becca’s first date, her first dance and several other moments that had her ducking her face into Stan’s shoulder and calling out, “Daaaadddd!” Bucky listened to his father’s soothing rumble in a daze, and his eyes searched the room for Steve. 

He was watching him, looking just as conflicted and confused as Bucky felt, blue eyes begging for answers. His arm dangled over the back of the chair, hand clenching and unclenching. _Talk to me,_ he mouthed. Bucky glanced down at his feet, then gave him a brief nod in return.

But it was Bucky’s turn. George handed him the mike and went to kiss Becca’s cheek, and of course there were more waterworks. Bucky waited for George’s round of applause to die down before he took the microphone. He cleared his throat and licked his lips.

“Hey. I just wanted to add my own best wishes for Becca and Stan to my dad’s, because today’s a big deal. I’m proud of my big sister.”

“Six minutes,” she called out to him. Bucky grinned, but he felt his eyes prick.

“See? She won’t cut me any slack. Older by six minutes, folks.” That earned him a few chuckles. “But I really am proud of you, Becca. I love you, and you’ve always been in my corner. You’re my favorite partner in crime, even if you were the one who usually got _me_ in trouble-“

“Lies! All lies,” she insisted, but she was laughing at him and blowing him kisses.

“Stan, this girl snores like a buzzsaw,” he warned his brother-in-law. “Bunk beds, Stan. We had bunk beds and she used to snore the house down every night.” Stan nodded solemnly, mouthing the words _I know._ The groomsmen surrounding them chortled into their fists while Becca brandished her first at her brother, then her husband. “You missed out on all the fun, Stan. Becca’s emo phase and playing her U2 CDs until they wore out, her weird poetry, four years of braces and hearing Becca and her friends keep us up until all hours of the night when she had sleepovers every Friday night. I had the privilege of sharing Becca’s childhood with her, Stan. Those were some really happy years from where I’m standing today.” Bucky mastered himself, not wanting his voice to catch. “I know you’ll make the rest of her life with you fantastic. Welcome to the family, brother.” Bucky offered him a handshake as people began to clap, but Stan stood and pulled him into a hug. Becca took her turn and hugged him so tightly that those tears really were toying with his lids, but he breathed his sister in, felt her arms wrapped around him, reminding him how much he meant to her, that he was her first best friend.

After a few more brief speeches from the bridal party, they drank a peremptory toast with the expensive champagne, and Bucky remembered that he owed Steve a talk.

When he looked for him, he found Steve’s empty chair, his blazer gone. Bucky felt a frisson of panic. He doubled back and grabbed Tony’s sleeve while he was flirting with Pepper. “Where’s Steve?”

“He stepped out, I think.” Tony narrowed his eyes and looked down, puzzling over the question. “Wait. That tall one. The one with the legs. Sharon, right? He went outside with her.”

Bucky rushed off, not caring how it looked. He retrieved his jacket, cramming his arms into the sleeves and shrugging it on as he walked out of the hall, leaving the chatter and returning music behind him.

There the stood beneath the street lamps in the parking lot, their hair illuminated by the stark glow. Steve had his hands shoved in his pocket while they chatted about God-only-knew-what. Bucky stopped short a couple of feet away, suddenly wondering what he could even say that wouldn’t sound jackassed.

Steve saved him the trouble.

“Here comes my date. Bucky, you’ve met Sharon?” She nodded politely to Bucky.

“I wanted to coax a dance out of him, but he’s being bashful,” Sharon admitted guiltily. Bucky was speechless. 

_Here comes my date._ Steve said that. About _Bucky._

“I’m about Macarena’d out,” Steve assured her. He turned to Bucky. “You look worn out, Buck.”

“Are you kidding? I’m just getting my second wind.”

“We were just getting some air, Buck,” Steve told him. “Sharon, it was nice seeing you again.”

“Likewise, Steve. Enjoy the rest of the night.” She hid her disappointment well as she ducked back inside, leaving them alone. They both waited for her to disappear back into the reception room before they met each other’s eyes.

“You okay, Buck?” Steve asked yet again. “Just seems like you have something on your mind.”

“Yeah. About that.” Bucky rubbed his nape and stared at his feet. “Steve. I don’t know how to even… you know I wouldn’t-“

“Bucky,” Steve interrupted. “Don’t.”

“What?” Steve closed the space between them, gripped Bucky’s shoulders, and kissed him hard, stealing any opportunity Bucky might have had to talk them both out of what was flickering between them all night. Bucky made a tiny sound of surprise and his eyes fluttered shut as their breath mingled. His hands reached for Steve, groping him, tugging his slender body against him and wrinkling that nice suit as the kiss deepened. Steve groaned with relief and need as he nipped at Bucky’s lips, coaxing him to open for him. He tasted like gin and limes. His hair felt soft and thick where Steve combed his fingers through it. Bucky’s arms coiled around Steve’s waist, hands tracing the column of his spine, molding the planes of his body.

They broke the kiss long enough to breathe. “Please be okay with this,” Steve muttered. “Otherwise, things are gonna be weird from now on.”

“Yup. I’m okay with it if you’re okay with it,” Bucky agreed breathlessly. “God, Steve…” He slanted his mouth over his, practically bruising him, earning himself pleased noises from his best friend’s lips. The years dialed themselves back, and Bucky felt like he was making out in his senior prom limo, furtive and untried, desperate to peel back the layers of itchy formal wear and taste his date’s skin. Steve, for all of his bashfulness, had no problem at all making out with Bucky in the middle of the parking lot while all of Bucky’s friends and family danced to more bad music and swilled down bottles of Gallio and Riunite inside.

“It’d be bad form,” Steve told him between kisses,” if we didn’t at least stay for cake.”

“It’s got marzipan. You’re allergic to it. That stuff’s made from almonds, Stevie.”

“Of _course_ it’s got marzipan,” Steve muttered, grinning. He gave Bucky a quick peck. “Don’t desert your sister on her special day.” Bucky looked disappointed, until Steve reminded him, “I have my stuff at your place, and I’m your ride.”

“The bouquet toss, Steve. And not a minute longer.” They made their back inside, fingers entwined as they eased back into the crowd.

Steve was an excellent sport about going a few more rounds on the dance floor. He suffered the conga line and managed the chicken dance pretty well, and he helped Bucky wrangle all of his young nieces who wanted to spend most of the night cruising on top of their feet, being glided around the dance floor, hopped up on too much soda and wedding cake. Every time their eyes met, those sparks flew, so bright and hot between them that people inevitably talked, heads nodding, minds speculating. The rest of the night became a blur, and Bucky was anxious to leave with Steve and to shed the stifling tux in the cool, dark confines of his apartment. He wanted to unwrap Steve like a wedding present.

The music finally slowed, and Bucky and Steve slumped together on the fringes, chairs pushed together, Steve leaning back against Bucky drowsily, a bleary smile plastered over his face. The DJ announced the bouquet toss, rounding up all of the single women in the room. A few of them held back, nursing drinks and flirting, not needing to participate in the spectacle. 

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” Steve told Bucky. “Back in a flash.”

“What? You’re gonna miss it,” Bucky whined.

“Take a picture,” Steve called back as he wove his way through the pushed-back chairs scattered around the room. The DJ played a recorded drum roll as Becca turned her back on the women – the combatants – and closed her eyes, taking a hope –to- heaven shot with the bouquet, lofting it over her shoulder. Steve heard the chorus of shrieks, shuffling feet and giggles, peering over his shoulder at them and missing the chair that was right in front of him as he turned to continue to the men’s.

“STEVE!” Bucky yelled out just before Steve took a header _over_ the chair, landing spectacularly in a sprawl. The girls fought over the bouquet, sending it bouncing and dodging through the air…

…where it landed in Steve’s lap. He stared down at it, dazed. “The hell…?”

It was the only time Bucky could ever remember lining up for the garter toss at any wedding he’d ever been to. Steve never would have forgiven him if he hadn’t.


End file.
